Beware The Frozen Heart
by Animic
Summary: My name is Linus, the twelfth Prince of the Southern Isles, and I'm here to tell the story of my brother, Prince Hans. The bastard boy cursed with fire. Fire!Hans
1. Part One: The Bastard

We were afraid. All of us. Could beat up the little boy with our pinky finger and yet, there was always that knowledge in the back of our head. It's why we stopped talking to him. It's why we never opened the door when he came knocking. It's why I would hear him in the room next to mine, crying himself to sleep. I blame myself for everything that became of him. For the man that he came to be.

We were Victor Frankenstein…and he was our isolated monster. Our feared, dangerous, and powerful creation.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

* * *

Part One: The Bastard

* * *

My name is Linus, the twelfth Prince of the Southern Isles. Though Hans was the closest brother I felt a connection with, there will always be a hint of resentment that no one outside the family will ever willingly talk about. I was my mother's last intended child with a desperate desire for a daughter – a princess. Her name was to be Lynn.

My mother did not get her wish.

Granted, she was not a vengeful woman. She loved me with every fiber in her being and I even drew some of the attention away from the tenth and eleventh princes, Joshua and James – the only twins they'd ever have the privilege to bear. Even with twelve sons running about the house, my mother and father were completely content with their life and their kingdom. However, they jokingly made a promise between one another that I would be their last child.

In a terrible matter of speaking, I was their last child. Together. You see, my father was a man tempted by all that is around him. My mother was sick. In no position to provide him counsel or company, he began to talk with the serving girl who had been attending to her. I caught them talking on several occasions. I caught them kissing on several occasions. I never spoke of this to my mother, not once. Her heart was already so frail that I didn't wish to break it further. She loved her husband with all her heart; therefore, for her and the good of the kingdom, I told no one, as I promised my father I wouldn't. Not even my brothers had the slightest inkling of their role model's betrayal.

It didn't stay that way for long, of course. My mother recovered after a few months. Though the doctor clarified that she would not live a long life, she lived long enough to have her heart broken. Nine months later, a new child was introduced to the castle. A child that my mother never bore. I could hear their argument echo throughout the walls of the castle, through the deep stone that surrounded my bedroom and even from the garden on the polar opposite side.

Granted, I was still a small child. I didn't have the emotional tendency to bear comfort to my distraught mother or to scold my ill-acted father and instead focused on the house studies I was made to perform. While my father rocked his bastard son to sleep, I would watch him from afar, working on my essay on kingdom alignment or practicing my footwork for the next Brothers Brawl tournament that we held every year. I never said a word to my father. Only in my head and written down did I express my disgust for him.

The serving girl was banished from the lands of the kingdom and I heard my father swear time and time again that he had simply been lonely and that the baby he held in his hands was only a product of his depression in the idea of losing his wife. He loved her very much, I knew that. It is true. And it took a lot of convincing and a lot of diamond rings to reestablish her trust in him, but damn it, it worked. Their marriage was restored and the son was welcomed into the hearts of their family.

It was ironic. No one in the family had red hair, not one, but the people of the Isles never questioned it. They treated him as their beloved Prince who had just as much the right to rule as their first-born, George, and everyone in the family loved him, including me.

Especially me.

I always wanted a younger sibling. Had always been doomed to believe that I was to remain the brunt of my brother's jokes and pranks forever. Together, we would stand. Together, we would prove ourselves to be the best of the Southern Isle princes, even though our right to rule would never be established. That we would be inhabitants of the army for the rest of our lives and nothing more. It was a realization I was content with. With Hans, it was a different story.

We grew up happy.

As my younger brother learned to walk and talk, he would always knock on my bedroom door first. Every morning. Every day.

"Do you wanna go exploring?" he'd always ask.

Adventure was our passion. Exploring the grounds and extensions of our land was something that drove both of us. While our brothers and parents were off making more important decisions, Hans and I would sneak past the guards of the castle, swim through the moat that surrounded it, and wander around the forest. We built maps and marked our favorite spots where we discovered something amazing, where we had built a small clubhouse, etc.

It's what brothers were there for.

At least for a while.

As you might have already guessed, I'm significantly older than Hans. At the time he was born, I'd say I was around six or seven at the time. Granted, seven years doesn't seem that much but when you compare our family, it is quite a difference. Most of my brothers differ in age by only a few years, three at the most. In fact, I was born exactly nine months after the twins due to my mother's desperation for some sort of feminine presence in her family (again, sorry about that, mom).

Now, Hans didn't begin to notice these differences for quite some time. It was that childhood ignorance that kept him safe for a small amount of time and it wasn't till he started asking questions that it began to eat him up inside. It's what drove him to be the person he is today.

"Am I an accident?" he asked my father one day. He was five years old. I was almost thirteen.

I was there. I remember the red that shot through my father's cheeks. It wasn't because of the adorable question his son may have happened upon. It was of shame. Shame for what he had done and the shame of knowing that one day his son would ask this question and he would have to answer for the crimes he committed. He'd have the knowledge of knowing he'd doomed that poor boy from the start.

Hans was such a good kid.

I folded my arms and leaned up against the wall as I waited for my father's answer to the question I'd known he'd always been dreading. He, too, knew how great Hans was. How he was something special. So very special.

"You were a happy surprise." He forced out a smile and lightly tufted the boy's red, misplaced hair. Hans smiled. No further questions. Of course.

When Hans left the room, I confronted my father. It was the first time I had ever raised my voice to him. It was also the last.

"You dare lie to your own son?" I scoffed. "You dare continue his life as a mockery to hide your shame?"

"A mockery?!" he yelled back. "So young and you understand so little."

"I understand enough. He's a smart lad – possibly the smartest son in this bloodline. One day, he'll realize why he's alone in his facial features. Why he has red hair and is seven years apart from his closest brother of twelve! If you don't tell him, I will."

I've never seen my father look more serious in the three seconds that proceeded this moment than any other moment in my entire life. It might've been the first time that I realized how my father did actually care for that boy. How he feared for him.

"Lower your tone, _fool_ ," he hissed. He had never called me an insult in his entire life. I felt like a disappointment, really. "You're right. He will find out one day…and it will be the worst day of his life. But today…is _not_ that day. Understand me?"

I gulped. My eyes inherently wept as I thought of this boy. As I thought of that day.

"Yes, sir."


	2. Part Two: The Queen

There was an accident one day. I'd never seen anything like it before.

Sorcery.

The terrible downfall of humanity that we all assumed to be myth. If only that were actually the case. It took a while to unleash the demon that was hiding beneath my little brother's exterior. The wolf in sheep's clothing waiting for just the right moment to reveal himself. And boy did he have good timing.

* * *

Part Two: The Queen

* * *

Hans was seven years old when the Queen of the Southern Isles passed away. I guess you could call her his mother but…well, you really couldn't. Honestly, it was a bit of a relief. Not that I was at all glad that I would never see my mother again. More that I could know that she was finally at peace. Life had never been a very easy job for her and the last seven years of her life consisted in a false marriage. The king and queen ate together. They ruled together. They played with their sons together. But once all was said and done, the king and queen would go to their separate living quarters at the end of the night. They never fought…or spoke…or shared any sort of eye contact or communication outside the throne room.

And it had been that way for the past six years.

It was odd. The funeral. The whole kingdom had been in distant attendance with the royal family, of course, seated in the front. We stood oldest to youngest as we all approached the open casket of our dearly departed mother. I could see the eldest, George, who had always shown such courage, slowly break down into tears. The twins, Joshua and James, held hands as one of them buried his head into the other's shoulder and all you could hear throughout the twelve sons were stifled cries and stories of how great she used to be.

Had I not been too focused on Hans' intense apathy, I might have found time to conjure up some sort of mourning emotion, as well.

Here lies the woman that raised him. That held him in her arms. Fed him. Bathed him. Played with him. He was seven years old. He had experienced death on the hunting trips we'd taken to the enchanted forest so it wasn't a matter of confusion.

I remember him looking around, his head spinning in every direction, as he took in all the people that were here to mourn their queen. His eyebrows furrowed together until he looked up at me and his face softened a bit. He looked at mother…then back up at me…and said:

"Why don't I feel anything?"

I could not speak. Perhaps because there was too much to say.

 _Because she's not your mother.  
Because you were the child of a broken heart.  
Because your whole life you've been lied to. _

I didn't say either of these things, of course. The timing just didn't seem right. That I would have robbed him of something, or worse. Killed a part of him on the inside that fought to believe he had some sort of purpose in this family. I'd managed to shelter him from the words on the outside. The gossip that wanders around from servant to servant. From brother to brother. You wouldn't believe.

"Why does the king still keep that _thing_ around? A bastard has no business in the castle."

"He's not our brother. Why didn't father order the whore to take the bastard with her?"

"The whole town knows –"

"Hans is just a misplaced—"

"—Freak."

Isn't life interesting? Funny. Like an iceberg, really. We're kind and beautiful at the forefront but once you dive underneath, and you needn't travel far, there's always that ugliness eating through all our souls like a plague. We've all just got ice running through our veins, don't we?

After the funeral, there was a private mourning session for close relatives, friends, and personal servants of the royal family. I remember standing next to the third son, Konrad, drinking my very first lager. The very first time I felt like I needed it. In mid-conversation of Konrad reminiscing about the time he'd accidentally swallowed one of mother's family heirlooms, I saw Hans seated in the corner of the throne room.

His fists were balled together and even several yards away I could still hear him breathing. My gaze was focused and my attention lacked. Konrad suddenly burst out into a fit of depressed laughter but then stopped as he saw my white eyes. He asked if I was alright. I told him no and he only nodded, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

"No one can escape death, Linus," he said, and then left to comfort the twins.

I only sighed, watching him leave as I tapped my index finger against my crystal glass. When I turned back to the corner of the throne room where Hans had been sitting, he was gone. Next to it lie the open door to the grand hall and I gradually made my way towards the room where I found Hans standing in the middle, staring at a picture on the wall of our entire family. All of them fair-haired, light blonde or brunette, including myself, and then Hans…hair as red as fire.

"I'm not quite right, am I?" he asked, not even glancing at me. He knew who it was.

"You're always right," I told the seven-year-old, matter-of-factly. It was true, after all.

"But not here," he said, his eyes focused on the portrait.

I'd never been so aware of my breath before. Have you noticed how smooth it is? How the slight gust of the wind can change almost anything? A breath is no different.

"No," I breathed. "Not completely."

I felt tears stain my face but I saw nothing but assurance on his. It almost seemed like a smile. As if someone had just told him they loved him. Or that they hated him, only for him to not be phased at all. Mysterious content.

"You'll always be right with me, Hans," I told him.

He smiled slowly, a bit defeated.

"If not with anyone else."

The both of us walked back into the throne room. I expected a domestic, a brawl, a tantrum, but I was wrong. Hans stood at the feet of my father and let him wrap an arm around his shoulder. George, the eldest, ruffled Hans's red hair and they all said nothing. I caught eye contact with the boy and all I received was a blank stare. I saw no emotion there. No sadness. Anger. Confusion.

His apathy had always been apparent. I'd spent so much time with him, and I knew it was there. I guess I just chose to ignore it. He's a bastard and people treated him different. So he's different. How wrong I was.

I remember the day his pet ferret died. I made arrangements to bury him near our garden, telling Hans he could come back and speak with him whenever he felt the need to grieve. It was common procedure with children, and I didn't expect anything less than uncontrolled grief. But he told me no. He grabbed the ferret and threw it off the dock into the ocean. As if it had been nothing but a mere stone he found at random.

"It makes no difference," he said. "He failed."

I think I'd always known that Hans was gonna be remarkable. Strong, so terribly strong. I hate it when I'm right, too. Out of all our brothers, I'm the only one he ever really attempted to speak with. I asked him why once. Why he never smiled around anybody but me. Why he never knocked on their door or sought anyone else for guidance.

I'll never forget his response.

"We're special," he said. "We're different."

And then he smiled. That glass-eyed smirk that just says…you don't know me at all. And you never will.

And I don't.

It felt like a volcano erupted.

I could see the throne room wallpaper melting off the walls and how suddenly what was once a small chill in the room felt like a bomb had been let off. There was really no time to process what was going on. All I visually remember is a fire sparking from out of thin air and catching onto the curtains, and the furniture, and the carpet.

Everyone was screaming. Chaos. The servants all ran out, devil may care, while my father was screaming at his children and barking out orders. My first thought was Hans. Where was Hans. I almost screamed his name until I finally saw him. Everything was falling down around him and there he stood, completely stoic, staring at the fire blazing on the ceiling.

"Hans!" I screamed.

He didn't even twitch.

Konrad suddenly grabbed me, my father grabbed Hans, George picked up both of the twins with each hand, and we all fled out of the throne room, the great hall, and out onto the courtyard.

"Father, what was that?!" George yelled. The king didn't answer.

"It came out of nowhere."

"Do you think it was a bomb?"

"It was too tame to be a bomb."

"Then someone lit up a cigar and dropped it?"

"And then the whole house explodes?"

"I don't think so."

"Was it a warning shot?"

"You mean to war?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Such as?"

It all just became an instant squabble amongst all thirteen brothers on what had happened. Well…all except two. Hans and I. Perhaps he was right. Maybe we were special.

Because he and I knew that this was something incomprehensive. Nothing invented by the likes of men but formed and shaped for many years. He turned around and looked at me. His white apathetic eyes felt like swords in my chest. Because I held a heavy burden. Because I knew.

Sorcery.


End file.
